


don't blame me

by ruthvsreality



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bondage, D/s undertones, Deepthroating, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Porn With Plot, Riding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 07:36:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14786223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthvsreality/pseuds/ruthvsreality
Summary: Prompt from the podsa kink meme: "JonTommy White House era fic where Favs helps Tommy deal with his perfectionism and fear of failure by putting him in sexual situations and giving him orders that he's doomed to fail at following."





	1. lord save me/my drug is my baby

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: It's worth pointing out that while I have these two incorporate bondage and taking orders into their relationship, I purposefully did not write them as being in a D/s relationship. Putting someone who is in a submissive position in a situation where they are guaranteed to fail can be harmful or cause discomfort if it's done without both sides agreeing to it first. There can be a risk of violating trust or of hurting someone. Of course, that doesn't mean that consenting adults can't engage in that kind of behavior - and obviously, I think there's an appeal to forcing someone into disobeying orders, otherwise I wouldn't be writing the damn fic - but in my opinion it should definitely be something only done after plenty of communication is had. However in this fic Jon and Tommy are just dudes who use restraints sometimes and that's not necessarily bdsm, so there's no real threat of punishment when someone fails. Anyways idk why I'm going on and on about this, my point is communicate with your partner always, especially in sexual situations, and especially when you're giving orders that have consequences beyond getting over your fear of messing up due to having a really difficult job in the white house. anyways obviously please keep the fourth wall present and sacred, please do not tell any of these people, and enjoy.

The first time is after a particularly stressful meeting in the Situation Room. It's all very top secret, which means that Jon doesn't even bother asking when Tommy shows up at his door. Tommy knows he must look wired, restless; he caught sight of himself in a store window on the way to Jon's apartment and he looked like something out of an after school special, one designed to discourage kids from doing excessive amounts of Adderall. Jon doesn't even say anything, just lets him in and offers him a beer.

Tommy lasts all of five minutes - tapping his fingers on the table the whole time, by the way - before he grabs Jon by his shirt and kisses him, hard, desperate, and Jon's laughing and trying to say something and why the  _fuck_  is he talking, Tommy feels like he's going to jump out of his own skin, he doesn't know what to do with himself, and it's only after he's actually pushed Jon back onto the dining room table and has  _crawled_  on top of him, his tie dangling between the two of them, that Jon grips Tommy by the hips and stops him cold.

"Hey - hey, not that I don't like the down-to-business attitude, but is everything okay?"

It hurts, because Tommy can't tell him the whole truth. Not that he wants to. He feels too full, overflowing with the whole truth. He doesn't want to spread that feeling to anyone else.

They end up doing what they did the night before the first State of the Union - Jon sits Tommy down in his office chair (the nice one, with the long armrests) and tells him to count to a hundred, taking deep breaths the whole time.

Tommy's hesitant at first; just because he's restless and weird doesn't mean he's not horny. But Jon helps him get out of his clothes once he counts to ten, and the ringing in his ears gets a little quieter.

At thirty, Jon carefully straps Tommy's arms to the chair with two of his belts.

"Remind me to get you some rope." He murmurs, and Tommy wants to say something, make a joke about the tabloids catching Jon at a sex shop or what that would look like on a financial disclosure form, but then Jon's standing over him, his hand in Tommy's hair, petting him, guiding his breathing, and Tommy forgets to focus on anything other than counting.

At fifty, Jon gets on his knees and takes Tommy's cock all the way in one smooth motion. It's so unexpected - wet, warm suction, patient and teasing, Jon's so fucking good at this that Tommy sometimes wonders just what he got up to in Catholic school sometimes - that Tommy's voice trails off into a gasp, the crowded jumble of words in his head disappearing in a second.

Jon makes a noise to get Tommy's attention (as if he doesn't already have it) and gestures with one hand for Tommy to keep counting.

It's a lot more difficult, now, but instead of feeling like a ramp up, like one more task to do on top of the billion Tommy has on his mind, it's nice. Peaceful. By the time he reaches one hundred, he feels calm, like his internal monologue is a radio that's finally been turned off.

Other than his cock, of course. That part of him is very, very awake, hard and leaking, twitching a little when Jon pulls away to go get lube from his bedroom.

When he comes back with paper towels and a bottle of water, it's such a domestic image that Tommy gets a pang of guilt in his chest for not giving Jon an explanation.

"Earlier, I..." How the fuck does he talk about this? "I just - I almost messed up. Not in a really big way, but. You know. Little mistakes, they add up."

He half expects Jon to say something like  _That sounds really tough, I can't imagine_  or  _At least you didn't cause a nuclear war_ or something to diffuse the situation, but Jon just nods and begins to strip off his clothes.

"I mean," he steps out of his slacks and turns off the ringer on his phone, "you can't get everything right every time, buddy. You're going to mess up sometimes."

For some reason, Tommy feels a rush of that same anxious, restless feeling surge up inside him. "No, I won't." He argues, just loud enough for Jon to hear.

Jon jerks his head to look at Tommy and his expression is enough for Tommy to gather that he's said the wrong thing, though he doesn't understand why. Jon doesn't exactly look  _mad_ , per se. More bemused than anything. It's a difficult look to read, and Tommy's never been very insightful when his dick is this hard, anyway.

"You're not gonna mess up." Jon says slowly, like he's figuring something out in his head. Tommy shifts a little in his chair. Are they talking about sex now?

"No," he asserts a little more forcefully (despite having no idea what he's asserting), "I'm not gonna mess up."

There's an uncomfortably long stretch of silence where Jon just tilts his head and looks at him. It's weirdly arousing, which is something that Tommy consciously chooses not to read into.

"Okay." Jon says. He sounds completely casual, like there wasn't just a pause long enough for one of the President's speeches to be played twice over without stopping. He reaches over and grabs the bottle of lube, squeezing out a slightly excessive amount (in Tommy's opinion) onto his fingers and stepping into Tommy's space like he's a man on a mission. "Hey, babe, do me a favor?"

"Yeah?" Tommy replies. He doesn't really know what's going on, but it almost definitely involves his dick, so it's probably good.

"Don't come." Jon orders, looking at Tommy straight with those beautiful brown eyes, pinning him even further even while Tommy's literally tied up.

"Okay-" Tommy cuts himself off, gasping, as Jon wraps his hand around Tommy's dick and starts jerking him off,  _fast_ , the kind of quick, tight strokes that Tommy usually reserves for when he only has fifteen minutes before his next meeting. It's not teasing in the slightest; it's sharp and satisfying, pleasure building and building and wait a second, Jon told him not to come -

"Don't come." Jon repeats, but he's playing with the head of Tommy's dick, leaning in and kissing him filthily, tongue sliding against Tommy's and making him dizzy. There's so much fucking stimulation, Jon crowded over him, overwhelming him, and in the background of all of it the steady wet sound of his hand moving up and down Tommy's cock, faster and faster, and why the fuck would Jon tell him not to come if he didn't want him to -

"Fuck, fuck,  _fuck_!" Tommy comes with a groan, spilling over Jon's hand and jerking against his restraints so hard that it almost feels like he's going to break the chair. Jon works him through it, squeezing every drop of come out of him, still at that relentless pace, until Tommy's gasping for air and squirming away from the touch. Jon reaches up with his other hand and pets Tommy's hair, pulling him in for a kiss. He's - it doesn't feel quite like he's smiling. More like a smirk.

Tommy's further confused when Jon steps away to grab the paper towels and he starts talking to himself. Tommy can't make out everything he's saying, but he catches something like, "Okay, that's what I thought."

Tommy makes a mental note to ask Jon what the fuck he's talking about, and what the fuck just happened, but in the whirlwind that is the rest of the night, he gets distracted.


	2. for you, i would cross the line/i would waste my time

The second time is in a hotel room in Germany. Tommy had never been to Germany before now. He was excited the whole time, texted his parents, even tried to pick up a few conversational phrases (as if he’d honestly be asking Chancellor Merkel where the library was).  But he’s also excited to spend a few days, or at least a day, in a hotel room with Jon. Someplace nice. Someplace with a view of rolling hills or a cityscape or whatever.

It ends up that their hotel room faces… another hotel.  And not like, a pretty one, either. But that’s okay. Tommy isn’t too focused on the scenery.  He’s focused more on Jon.

They’ve talked about things, lately.  They’re dating, now. Properly dating.  Boyfriends. Isn’t that such a great word? Tommy has been thinking about words a lot, lately.

He’s had to think about words a lot on this trip. He sat in on a meeting with several diplomats and policy experts about what Germany is doing to combat terrorism, specifically cyberterrorism. At one point the president walked in, and thank god the chancellor wasn’t there, because when he talked, it was very off the cuff, and maybe a bit too pushy about Germany’s role as an ally. The words “foresight” and “program changes” and “austerity regarding manpower” were used.

Maybe best _not_ to use the word “austerity” around these guys, hmm? Kind of a sticky situation.

But Tommy knew what the president was talking about. They’d talked about it earlier, and the president had gestured with one hand, the briefing booklet in the other, and had said the phrase he should’ve said in that meeting. And the twelve other people in the room had agreed.

If Tommy had just taken him aside -

“Kiss me.” Jon says as soon as the door of the hotel room closes. “Kiss me. We should fuck.”  
  
“I mean, yeah, but those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.” Tommy says with a grin.  He reaches forward and tugs Jon lightly by his tie.

Kissing Jon is so good.  So fucking good. It’s a wet, slick glide and Jon tastes like his stupid fucking orange tic tacs and Tommy thinks, yeah, yeah.  He hums into Jon’s mouth and sucks on his tongue a little bit. God, Jon is just perfect all over, isn’t he? Perfect mouth. Perfect gap in his teeth.  Perfect.

This whole trip has been perfect.  Well. Almost perfect.

There’s an urban legend, Tommy thinks as he tosses Jon’s tie across the room and starts unbuttoning his shirt, about Quakers.  That when they make a quilt, they put tiny mistakes in it on purpose, because nothing is perfect except God.

Tommy doesn’t know why he thought of that. He doesn’t even really think about God all that much. He thinks more about people. 

“Hey,” Jon says, “you with me?”

“Uh,” Tommy shakes his head a little as if to clear it, “yeah.  Sorry. A little jet-lagged.”

“You wanna stop? We can just sort of hang out.” Jon tilts his head. God, he’s pretty.  (Tommy might’ve had a beer or two earlier today.)

“No, no, I’m here, I’m here.” Tommy nods. “Maybe we shouldn’t fuck, but… Can I suck you off?” That would be nice.  Just a little while on the bed where he doesn’t have to talk, or think of words for other people. What was the phrase that the president had used, back in the Oval Office?

“You know I’m not gonna say no to that.” Jon grins and kisses him some more, letting Tommy walk them back to the bed.  Then they just lie on each other, for a bit, feeling each other up. They both still have their pants on.

Kissing, kissing, so much kissing. Tommy moves down to kiss at Jon’s neck, at his shoulders, at his chest. Jon undoes his belt without looking, which Tommy will admit is impressive. Or is it just indecent? Words, words, words. Tommy’s a regular fucking Hamlet over here.

Focus. Jon’s right here and he’s present and he’s perfect and Tommy gets to suck him off.

He kisses down Jon’s chest, getting to his hips, and looks up at him with that wide, doe-eyed look he knows Jon likes. “May I?”   

Jon rolls his eyes. “You want a written invitation?”

Tommy doesn’t respond, just unzips Jon’s pants and tugs them down along with his boxers. Man, Jon’s dick is nice. It’s not, like, coke can thick or whatever, but it’s long, and it makes Jon squirm when Tommy sucks on it, so he likes to do that a fair amount.

He starts out slow, just playing with the head of it, getting himself ready.  He doesn’t want his mouth to be too dry. He wants to make this good, and that includes a visual element as well as not forgetting to play with Jon’s balls or his ass or all the other things Jon likes in a blowjob.

Jon feels heavy and warm in his mouth, and the taste is still a little weird despite all of Tommy’s practice so he focuses on Jon’s face instead; the way his eyes close and he takes a deep breath, like he’s been waiting for it. Tommy’s been waiting for things, too, this entire trip.

Maybe he shouldn’t have spent so much time waiting, though.  Maybe there were places he could’ve been, people he could’ve talked to, maybe he could’ve taken the president off to the side before he said that phrase instead of “cautious reciprocity regarding manpower” which is what he meant to say, Tommy’s sure of it…

Jon’s looking at him. Well, he _should_ be looking at him, Tommy’s got his dick in his mouth, but he’s giving him a look that’s… funny. Like he’s figured something out, like someone who’s figured out the outline of a puzzle and can now fill in the gaps more easily. His eyes are dark and warm and the smirk on his face makes Tommy feel hot all over for reasons he both does and doesn’t understand.

Tommy takes Jon a little deeper so that the look goes away.  Jon grins, indulgent, pleased. He’s enjoying himself. His hips buck up a little bit and Tommy just rolls with it.  Yeah, go on. Get my face all messy. I don’t mind a bit of spit and precome.

“Think you can take me a bit deeper?” Jon says in a breathless gasp.  He makes a choked-off noise and his hips rise up again, as if to repeat the question.

Tommy would say yes, but his mouth is full, so he just sinks his mouth a bit lower onto Jon’s cock.

Tommy isn’t stellar at sucking dick, he’ll admit that. But he wants to make it good for Jon. He can be good at this.  His mouth is good for stuff other than talking. Other than fussing with words. He sinks lower and lower until his nose is just barely touching the curls at the base of Jon’s dick. Yeah.

Immediately instinctual panic starts to set in. Tommy hangs out with a lot of military guys, but that doesn’t make him a navy SEAL. It’s pretty difficult for him to hold his breath. Jon thrusts up, once, barely a centimeter, and the feeling is heady and overwhelming and also very, very scary. Not ‘I want to stop’ scary but ‘I am not prepared for this’ scary, the kind of scary he avoids at all costs. The kind of scary he felt in that meeting, today. The kind of scary that seems more and more common these days.

He wants to last longer, though, with his own spit sliding down Jon’s cock and Jon’s little whimpers signalling that he’s only just holding himself back.  God, he’s so big, and he’s filling up Tommy’s mouth and his throat. He can do this, he can -

Tommy gasps and pulls off, coughing, gasping for air.  Shit. He forgot to breathe through his nose. “Fuck, fuck.” There are tears in his eyes.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Jon sits up and looks at him with concern. “Did I hurt you? Shit, I’m so sorry -”  
  
“No, no, you’re good.” Tommy nods, catching his breath.  His voice is wrecked and yeah, despite his panic it’s a little hot that he did that. That Jon did that.  Jon who's present and solid and warm and close. Wonderfully close.

Jon tilts his head at him and rubs his shoulder soothingly. “Hey, you didn’t have to do that.  I just meant a little deeper, not - that.”

Tommy’s about to say, but you asked me to, and I wanted to do it _properly,_ but then he looks up at Jon’s face and there’s so much concern in his eyes that he can’t speak for an entirely different reason.

Words seem superfluous, sometimes, when it comes to Jon.

“How about,” Tommy suggests after a little bit of soft, partially apologetic kisses, “we exchange handjobs and make out like horny teenagers who don’t know what they’re doing?”

“We already don’t know what we’re doing.” Jon says with a cheeky smile.

“Great, so you’ll be superb at it.”

Maybe Jon did want him to try deepthroating, Tommy thinks later as they’re making out while a German news station plays on the TV in the background. Tommy just got a little ambitious. Maybe the look in Jon’s eyes had been a dare, and Tommy had taken him up on it, and yet he’d been so full of _words_ he couldn’t focus.  

Or maybe it was something else.

Jon kisses him, hard, pulling away and cupping his cheeks in both hands. “You’re perfect.” He says. “You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

Tommy decides it doesn’t matter right now.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to register to vote in the midterms! :)


End file.
